


It's a Gas

by Liadt



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!
Genre: Gen, mini-case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Had he, Adam Llewellyn De Vere Adamant, failed to protect a lady in his care?</i><br/>No one ever said charity was easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Gas

Clouds of smoke drifted across the ballroom, it was deserted except for two middle-aged women, slumped over a cleaning trolley. A pair of figures wearing gas masks came through a side door and went up to the bodies. The shorter of the two kneeled to check the pulses of the women and then shook their head at their accomplice, who responded with a shrug. 

^^^^

Adam Adamant was in the ballroom of the Hanshire Hotel. In the room were dozens of round tables. Adam was impressed with how the tables were set. There were spotless, white tablecloths, linen napkins, polished cutlery and vases with real flowers in. It was a world away from the cafe Miss Jones had assured him was most “happening”. He had not taken to the wipe clean, Formica tables bolted to the floor, plastic condiment bottles, blunt cutlery and unappetising food. When he had asked for a fish knife the surly hostess had informed him the implement on the table doubled up as a fish, cheese, steak and any other bleedin’ knife. He had not considered her a lady of quality. As if to escape the memory, he crossed over to the far end of the room, where there was a low stage. On the stage was a man in his late twenties. He had a long face and wide set eyes. The man was helping a young woman set up a microphone on a lectern. She had an attractive round face and wore her hair up in a ponytail.

“Hello,” said the man. “You’re Adam Adamant, the Edwardian Adventurer, who was frozen in ice, aren’t you?”

Adam inclined his head.

“I’m Peter Meier and this is Kimberly Burrows we’re the organisers of tonight’s event,” said the man.

“I hope the preparations for the charity auction are running smoothly. The decorations are most charming,” said Adam, directing his remarks to Kimberley.

“Thank you, Mr Adamant, you are very kind,” said Kimberly. “Peter is a marvel at working out how to make things look just so. I wish I had his talent for arranging events.”

“Don’t do yourself down, sweetheart, my talent is a superficial one. You’re the one with the brains. Kim went to Cambridge. I just make things nice - no intelligence needed,” said Peter, with a loving smile at her. “Is there any particular place you want to sit?”

“I was thinking of sitting at a discreet distance from the guests of honour.”

Peter walked to the end of the stage and descended to the floor. “We’ve given them pride of place, just in front of the lectern. The table behind is taken by the Duke and Duchess of Fulchester’s party. Would you like to be seated there?”

“Yes, that would be ideal, thank you.”

“It’s good of you to come at such short notice. Zoë Taylor isn’t crazy about bodyguards, but a woman as famous as her needs protection. In the press, there are always rumours of outrageous kidnap plots. I don’t expect anything untoward to happen, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“It is my pleasure. I believe without Miss Taylor’s attendance the charity auction would not have gone ahead. I am glad to give a few hours of my time, for the benefit of the orphans in one of our Queen’s colonies.”

Peter cleared his throat uneasily and decided not to mention India had become independent of Britain, in case it upset Adam.

****

Some time later, Adam was sat in his drawing room, reading _The Times_. The pages were still warm from being freshly ironed flat by Simms. He was enjoying the quiet when Georgie bounced in from the lift. 

“I haven’t missed anything have I?” asked Georgie, breathlessly.

“Nothing at all, my dear, Miss Jones,” replied Adam, calmly.

“Are you sure? I was on my scooter and I had this weird feeling I should rush straight over here.”

Adam folded the paper and put it down. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth in amusement. “You may be developing the feminine trait of intuition. I hope it signals your transformation into a lady.”

Georgie made a face, which complemented Simms’. He was just coming in from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea things. On hearing Miss Jones enter the flat, he had added an extra Chelsea bun to a plate. 

Georgie’s keen eyes missed nothing. “Ooh, is that a bun for me?”

“The cyanide was off,” answered Simms. “Tea, sir?”

“Ah, yes, Simms and pour one for Miss Jones as well. I want her to hear what endeavour I would like her to join me in tonight.”

Georgie clapped her hands together in delight. “Wow-ee! At last, you’ve given in to progress and I don’t have to go undercover as a waitress anymore. Unless you want me to go undercover as a waitress?” Georgie plonked herself on the sofa and perched eagerly on the edge.

“This evening, I am going to a charity dinner and auction as a discreet bodyguard. There will be many important dignitaries there. You may recognise the names of Lord and Lady Cressington, Prince Sven of Nordinia, the Right Honourable Sir Teddy Brownlow, the Mayor of Carlisle…” Adam reeled off a list of minor politicians and aristocrats. 

Georgie didn’t know the names, but, by the sound of it, they would make it the dullest night ever. She stifled a yawn. “I think I’ll go with what you normally tell me to do and stay in playing snakes and ladders with Simms.”

Simms’ face took on a gloomy aspect. He had been looking forward to spending the evening alone, playing his music hall 78’s at full blast. “I suppose it is only right I suffer. The orphans of Varanasi have suffered enough without your presence blighting a fund raiser for them.”

Georgie’s eyes lit up. “Varanasi? Zoë Taylor and Nicky Saturn went to visit a guru there and came back saying how groovy India is.”

“That would explain why they are patronising the auction,” said Adam.

“Why didn’t you say Zoë and Nicky were going? Simms, you’ll have to play solitaire on your own.”

“It’s a hardship I’ll have to bear,” said Simms.

“The organisers informed me Miss Taylor was a very wealthy and influential lady, but I did not recognise her name. I have not come across her in the newspapers,” said Adam.

“Ha! If you read square rags, like _The Times_ , you’ll never hear about anyone interesting. You wouldn’t normally find Zoë and Nicky at the stuffy do’s you go to. She’s a model and heir to the Pelican Margarine millions and Nicky’s a rock star. They’re on the cover of this month’s _Crazy Scene_.” Georgie opened her handbag, drew out a battered copy of the magazine and passed it to Adam. He looked baffled at the cover picture of two androgynous, young people dressed in matching tunics with Nehru collars. One of them had curly, ginger hair and wore sunglasses and beads, while the other had straight, blonde hair and wore a colourful, patterned scarf. 

“Zoë’s the blonde,” said Georgie, helpfully. If Adam had mistaken her for a boy in cap and trousers, the image of Zoë and Nicky together would be a real mind bender. 

“Ah, I see why Miss Taylor needs watching. She sounds as if she is a danger to herself,” said Adam, disapprovingly. He was browsing the article where Zoë and Nicky discussed expanding their consciousness and how they believed that if the world leaders took a trip together world peace would follow. Adam had been in the 1960’s long enough to understand ‘taking a trip’ did not mean a holiday. “I was rash in inviting you to the auction. It seems I was mistaken about the civilizing influence this evening could have on your person.”

“I’m sure your presence will defeat the flower power, sir,” put in Simms, almost smarmily. He wasn’t happy about his hopes being raised and dashed over the evening’s arrangements. However, if he was stuck with Miss Jones, he could teach her liar dice, it would make a change from cards and board games. Then he could win back the five shillings, three pence, thirty matchsticks and a shoe he had lost the last time he’d played cards with her. Simms brightened - whichever way the evening went it wouldn’t be a total loss. 

“My resolve is set,” said Adam, rising from his chair.

“You hypocrite,” said Georgie, too angry to finish her bun.

“I’m afraid I must depart to oversee the security arrangements.” Adam strode purposely to the lift. With practised ease, Simms passed Adam’s cape and swordstick to him. Georgie tried to squeeze into the lift, with Adam, before the doors shut. As usual, Adam was too quick for her. 

Georgie then pressed the lift’s buttons several times, but it wouldn’t come back up. “What have you done to it?” she said in exasperation to Simms and gave the doors a small kick.

“Liar dice, miss?”

****

Kimberley walked into the small storeroom that served as a makeshift office. She sat on the edge of a desk. Peter was sat at the desk doing some paperwork. Leaning forward, Kimberley put her hand over Peter’s free hand. He looked up at her and she took her hair out of its ponytail. Shaking her head, her hair cascaded down over her shoulders. He liked it when she did that.

“I’ve had a brilliant idea,” said Kimberley.

“When don’t you?” said Peter, adoringly and slide his hand under her jacket.

“Not that,” she chided. “I was thinking, why stop at robbing trinkets from the rich, why not do what everyone else has tried and failed to do.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You mean kidnapping Zoë Taylor!” Once the shock subsided, he laughed. “I was right; you were wasted in that dingy lab. If they didn’t want to encourage you to use your gas for the greater good, we might as well use it for our good.”

“I’m not that great. I did kill those two cleaners.”

“They weren’t important and wouldn’t have felt a thing. Moreover, all scientists need to test their innovations to iron out the wrinkles. Some good came from their deaths. If we hadn’t blamed it on carbon monoxide poisoning, due to the boiler in the staff kitchenette, the boiler wouldn’t have been overhauled and found to be faulty. More people could have died.”

“It was dragging the bodies over to the kitchenette that gave me the idea. A skinny model must weigh less than two cleaners and we managed them,” said Kimberley.

“Just about, I don’t think my arms will be the same the again.”

“They feel all right to me,” replied Kimberley and leaned in for a kiss.

****

Georgie adjusted a white pinny around her waist and smoothed down the short, black dress she was wearing and went over to a long counter with platters of finger foods on it. Kimberley was also in the kitchen. She carried a tray of drinks and chatted with ease to the other waitresses and cooks in the kitchen of the Hanshire Hotel. 

Kimberley came up to Georgie. “There’s no need to hurry off and serve the guests just yet. Have a drink.” She gave Georgie an encouraging smile.

“Shouldn’t we wait until we’ve knocked off?”

Kimberley waved a dismissive hand. “A small glass can’t do any harm. We’re all girls together, aren’t we? What’s wrong with having a little fun?” She picked up a champagne flute.

Georgie hesitantly took the glass off her. Kimberley spoke confidently and smiled easily. If Kimberley was a man, Georgie wouldn’t have taken the glass off her. That sort of eagerness usually signalled a man who couldn’t be trusted alone with a woman. Perhaps she was being overly cautious. Getting Zoë Taylor was a coup and there was a definite buzz in the air. A little drink would help them all to relax. Georgie, however, decided she wasn’t taking any chances; she didn’t trust men who pressed alcohol on to her and she saw no reason why women couldn’t be included in her view. 

Somewhere in the kitchen, a plate smashed on the floor. Kimberley jumped and span round. Georgie took advantage of the situation and poured the champagne into a handy plant pot. She hoped the plant would be all right. When Kimberley turned back to her, she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Excuse me, the bubbles make me go all dizzy,” said Georgie and giggled for good measure.

An amused smile spread across Kimberley’s face. “Good girl!” she said, approvingly.

****

Adam was seated at the Duke and Duchess’s table. He was dressed in a black evening suit. The other male guests were soberly attired in dark suits, although the odd wag wore a bow tie than was neither white nor black. The women were dressed in formal, evening gowns that belonged in the last decade. The more delicate of the ladies had kept on their little, fur coats to keep warm. The exceptions to this dress code were Zoë, Nicky and their friends. Nicky had dispensed with the androgynous look for skin-tight, leather trousers, which left nothing to the imagination, and a purple paisley, silk shirt. Zoë wore a sari in hot pink with gold embroidery, teamed with a big, floppy hat. 

Adam scanned the guests for any signs they could be kidnappers in disguise. He did not suspect any of the staff. They were all young women and it was unlikely they would be involved with any nefarious activities and his fellow diners were too dull witted to be capable of dreaming up any grand criminal schemes. Miss Jones had been right to be disinterested in the guest list, apart from the colourful spectacle of Mr Saturn’s table, the evening so far was somewhat lacking. Good charitable patrons the majority might be, but their talk of holiday homes and tax bills was hardly invigorating. 

“Would you like me to refill your glass, sir?” said a familiar voice, with unfamiliar politeness.

Adam’s head snapped up. Miss Jones was at his elbow, holding a wine bottle.

“What are you doing here?” he said, in a stage whisper.

“And hello to you too,” replied Georgie. “It’s a good job I came because Miss Burrows is out back offering the staff drinks.”

Adam furrowed his brow. “It is Miss Burrows’ first event - I presume she is suffering from a case of first night nerves. No doubt, she thought the staff, being fellow members of the weaker sex, needed a dose of Dutch courage too. Mr Meier has been in here for most of the night leaving the poor girl without his reassuring guidance.”

“Mr Meier’s guidance is limited to literal hand-holding and gazing adoringly into her eyes. He’s the one that starts twitching if he’s left on his own for a minute. It was the way she was trying to pour booze down our necks I found suspicious. I hope she’s not a poisoner.”

“Come now, Miss Burrows is a most charming lady who needs your support, not your unfounded hostility.”

“Mmm.”

“How did you get out of the flat? Simms knows well enough not to let you out, when it will keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Don’t go docking his wages. He didn’t go down without a fight.”

“A fight!” Adam’s voice jumped in volume, gaining him disapproving glances from his fellow diners.

“No, not that kind of fight, although a girl does have ways of defending herself, but I haven’t hurt him - much.”

“I am confused about what exactly has happened to my valet.”

“After you’d left me, Simms taught me liar dice. I found it very boring as I kept winning, so we played cards instead. There were hardly any matchsticks to bet with and I suggested we play for tickles, with the loser getting tickled.”

“Tickles?” echoed Adam, still baffled.

“Yes, tickles.” Georgie tried to mime tickling an invisible person with her free hand. “I’m very good at tickling or very bad if you’re ticklish. Simms lost the second game and what do you know? He’s tremendously ticklish. He promised he’d let me into the lift if I stopped and here I am.” Georgie beamed proudly. 

Adam pursed his lips. He could hardly admonish Simms, for his weakness, and neither could he Miss Jones, for ignoring his wishes. It was now apparent she was in no danger from being degraded any further by degenerate, modern attitudes. “It appears I was mistaken in leaving you behind. Miss Taylor and Mr Saturn, contrary to the impression given in your reading matter, are the most delightfully behaved young people I have met for quite some time.”

“I expect it’s their upbringing kicking in. They both went to public school.”

“Ah, I see,” said Adam, pleased that the moral standards set in public schools had not fallen since his youth. “I must confess to having a short “wild” period after leaving school myself.”

“Ooh!” said Georgie, in expectation of a juicy tale.

“Yes, I burnt some of my old text books. Most irresponsible,” said Adam, embarrassed by his past actions.

Georgie was disappointed. “Only some? Zoë was expelled for sneaking out and joining a biker gang and Nicky walked out one day after his leather jacket was confiscated. The B-side of his first single was an ode to it. It was really far out.”

Adam didn’t ask if she was talking about the quality of the music or the jacket.

****

Once dining had finished, Peter walked up the steps to the stage and the lectern. He coughed discreetly into the microphone to check it was on. “Ahem, Ladies, Gentlemen and the Groovy-” There was a small cheer at the mention of ‘the Groovy’. Peter paused and smiled. “If I could have your attention, please. The charity auction will start shortly. I hope you have enjoyed the evening and you will be generous in helping the orphans. We have some very special items on offer. A complete list is detailed in the brochures left on the tables. I shall leave you to enjoy your post-meal drinks.” Peter then disappeared backstage.

Adam picked up a leaflet and idly flicked through it. Nothing appealed to him, as he had no lady to gift a diamond necklace to and the only holiday he would be interested in was one of hunting villains and not stags. A course on female deportment would have been a suitable gift for Miss Jones, but the nearest was a course in flower arranging. Adam began to feel strangely woozy and grabbed at the edge of the table for support. Did he see a low cloud of gas rolling off the stage? He closed his eyes and as he lapsed into unconsciousness, he slid off his chair.

****

Adam’s eyes flickered open. Groggily, he rose to his feet. He turned slowly in a circle - every single person in the room had slumped on to the floor. Using his swordstick as a walking cane, he carefully walked around to check the other diners on his table, to his relief, they were merely unconscious and not, as he feared, dead. He rested his hands on the back of a chair and swayed slightly as he tried to fight off the fog that clouded his thoughts. He froze when he recalled why he was there: to protect Zoë Taylor. The horror seemed to aid him and he moved more steadily over to Zoë’s table. Sure enough, she was missing. Had he, Adam Llewellyn De Vere Adamant, failed to protect a lady in his care? Was he too late to save her? 

First, he had to establish what the kidnappers’ most likely route would be. They would not be able to pass unnoticed through the main entrance. That left the door to the passage that led to the kitchen. He made his way to the door. Going through the door, he saw at the end of the corridor two figures, a man and a woman, wearing gas masks, half-dragging, half-carrying Zoë Taylor. 

A surge of adrenalin flushed the final effects of the gas away. Drawing his sword, Adam dashed down to catch the kidnappers. As he drew near, one of them let go of Zoë, pulled a canister from their handbag and lifted it to squirt into his face. Before that could happen, someone jumped from a narrow stairwell and violently hit the woman over the head with a tray. The kidnapper dropped to the floor like a stone. The other kidnapper ripped off his mask. It was Peter Meier.

“Kimberley! Kim! Kimmy-kins,” Peter cried, distraught. “You’ve killed her.” He started to sob uncontrollably and crouched down to roll her body off Zoë’s.

Adam hovered uncertainly over them holding his sword. He did not know what to do with a hysterical man. Instead, he changed his attention to the wielder of the tray. “Miss Jones, what on Earth did you think you were doing putting yourself in danger?”

“I couldn’t let her get you.”

“And so you murdered my darling, Kimmy, instead,” spat Peter.

“She can’t be dead. The metal’s too thin to have caused any real damage,” said Georgie and held up the tray to show him the head shaped dint in the middle. 

Peter’s tears and shaking had an effect on Kimberley and she came to with a groan. 

“Wha’s happened?” she said and put a hand to her head. 

Peter hugged her close and continued to sob, but this time in relief. 

“You have been the unfortunate recipient of Miss Jones’ enthusiastic decision to aid me. Now you have regained consciousness, I am putting an end to your association with Mr Meier. I believe he has coerced you into assisting with his fiendish Devil’s plot.”

“What? It was all Kimberley’s idea,” said Peter, incredulously. “Everything I do is for her - ever since the beginning.”

Kimberley took up the story. “We first met at a retirement party, which Peter had arranged at my old workplace, Medi-Kip International. I asked him if he had ever thought of robbing the filthy rich guests, he planned parties for. He said no. Then I told him about my research into anaesthetic gases and how they would be perfect for crime. My mind had begun to wander at work and I daydreamed about non-medical uses for my anaesthetics. After six years, it had become clear to me the only way to progress up the ladder at Medi-Kip was if you were born a man. Aptitude and ability didn’t count if both of your chromosomes were ‘X’. However, I digress. The next morning, after the party, I composed my letter of resignation at Peter’s flat.”

“The first day of the rest of my life,” sighed Peter, nostalgically. “I could never earn the kind of money for Kim to have her heart’s desire: her own laboratory. What else could I do but give into her schemes. A man’s duty is to provide for his woman. Crime was the only viable option.”

“Is Zoë all right? She hasn’t woken up,” said Georgie, worried.

“I should imagine she will in time. I am less susceptible to certain gases than the average person,” said Adam.

“Gases? I thought the drinks were spiked - everyone is out for the count in the kitchen,” said Georgie.

“We knew with the waitresses going back and forth from the kitchen they wouldn’t all be in the ballroom when the smoke machine was switched on. As an extra precaution, we drugged the staff. You didn’t pump too much gas into the ballroom and overdose Zoë, like you did the cleaners?” said Peter to Kimberley, panic rising in his voice.

“No, I told you, I had worked out the correct dosage. Dead cleaners are one thing, but if you kill your hostage, it’s bad for business. No ransom for corpses.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. “I am appalled by the depths you have plumbed to carry out your devious scheme. Miss Jones raise the alarm, while I take charge of these two deviants.”

Georgie disappeared up the stairwell in search of help.

“Do you understand, if you cause any more trouble, I have no compunction in running you through?”

Peter and Kimberley nodded glumly. They dared not disobey a man holding a sword mere inches away from their faces.

^^^^

“Ah, Simms, is there any finer sight on the river than that of a series of oars pulled cleanly through the water?” said Adam. In front of him, a team of rowers zipped with expert ease up the river. He was reclining on a tartan rug at the edge of a riverbank. The branches of a sturdy tree kept the worst of the blazing sun off his face. Spread out on the rug, next to him, was the contents of a picnic lunch, Edwardian style. Simms was standing slightly away from him, holding a bottle of wine, in case Adam needed a refill. To add to Adam’s enjoyment a Grieg LP played on a portable record player. The design of it wasn’t to Adam’s taste, but it was one modern invention he found to his liking.

“Very few, sir, but I find anything on the river is preferable to what the land has to offer.”

“What an odd remark,” replied Adam.

“Mr Adamant!” yelled Georgie, running into Adam’s view.

“On the other hand, perhaps not,” said Adam.

“Hey there, Mr Adamant!” shouted Georgie and practically collapsed on to the rug. Due to all the bangles, she had stacked up her arms, she rattled as she sat down. In her arms, she carried a thin, square package.

“Did you spot me?” she asked.

“Not until this very moment, no. Simms, I suspect, saw you on the bank before me.”

“You didn’t see me following you through the traffic”

“No, my dear.”

“Brilliant! I’d make a fab spy.”

“Do you wish to be a spy?” said Adam.

“Adventurers are old hat. Spies are with it. If you watched TV you’d know.”

“In my experience spies blend in with their surroundings.”

“I’m wearing blue; it matches the river and sky.”

“And a garish pink and gold scarf and cheap, jangling bangles,” added Simms. “You’re a veritable assault on the senses.”

“These bracelets aren’t cheap - they’re part of a thank you gift from Zoë Taylor. They came through the post this morning. And Nicky Saturn sent me a test pressing of his new album. It’ll be months until it hits the shops. I had to find you so you could hear it. If you thought Nicky was fab, you’re bound to dig his music. It’s really groovy.” Georgie swapped Grieg for Nicky’s LP.

Adam looked appalled as the intro played.

“I agree the start is a drag, but give it a chance, it’s a real grower,” said Georgie.

Simms took a large brandy glass out of the picnic hamper. He knew it wasn’t the done thing to pour a generous quantity of wine into the wrong glass, but he thought it was in Mr Adamant’s best interests.


End file.
